Choices and Responsibilities
by bitter-alisa
Summary: Being caught in between the Hardy brothers isn't something C.M. Punk is happy about. Who does he love, who does he actually hurt, who is guilty and who is the victim? M for strong language, sexual content and explicit drug abuse.
1. Loves me Not

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing except some parts of the plot and my interpretation of the events.

So, I had this idea of writing a love triangle for like forever now and finally the storyline kind of wrapped up in my head when I was re-watching that Jeff/Matt feud. Just had to throw our beloved Punk in between and here it is. Hope you enjoy it :)  
_Cursive_ are thoughts or emphasis on certain words.  
The song of the chapter is "Loves me not" by Tatu.

* * *

He lies in bed wide awake, as always, it's 3 a.m. and he can't ever fucking sleep. The fact that he just had sex doesn't even count, even though his lover fell asleep right after they were finished. _Lover._ C.M. Punk sneers in his head. The word "lover" is supposed to imply that he actually _loves_ the person he just had sex with, person he keeps sleeping with for past two years.  
But it doesn't. Not in this case.  
It is certainly better than "boyfriend" though, even though that's how Matt calls him, when he's not too busy making up all those ridiculous nicknames he finds so much joy in. Matt, that is. Punk hates each and every one of them with more passion than he shows towards Matt himself. It is all cool as long as he limits himself with Punkers, which he rarely does, and then Punk starts to grumble, complain and argue.

But Matt doesn't listen.  
He never does.

And that is the problem, right here, in this one sentence. Matt never listens. He has this weird world inside his head, where everything is nice and dandy, perfect relationship, perfect Punk and perfect Matt, happy together, and nothing seems to be wrong. The thing is that this imaginary world has nothing in common with the real one. Where _everything_ is wrong.

And never was right to begin with.

Punk sighs and gets out of bed, figuring that he might as well stop pretending to sleep and watch TV in the living room. Hockey might be on, the game he missed last night while being a nice _boyfriend_ and having dinner with Matt, but even if it isn't, he needs space. He always needs space, even three states between them wouldn't be enough, he realizes when he wishes halfheartedly that he could just go home to Chicago at this given minute.

But that would just be cowardly.

More concerned to wake up Jeff in another side of the house than Matt in the same room, he puts on random pants and a t-shirt and makes way to the living room. And of course, luck is not on his side (he thinks he should be careful with that "luck is for losers" next time), because Jeff is awake and active, fixing himself some cereal (at 3 a.m.!), and he doesn't even question Punk's presence in his house, at this hour, in this state. He's been dating his brother for two years, for crying out loud, Jeff has seen him in all possible states at best and worst times, has kept company through his insomnia so many times that one could even question who Punk is actually closer to - his own boyfriend or his boyfriend's brother. And whoever would dare to would be completely right, because Punk himself doesn't know the answer.

_Actually, I do, I just prefer not to think about it._

He has became so good at running away from problems that actually solving them now is more of an exception than a rule.

"Troubles sleeping," Jeff more states than asks, and Punk just nods. He's in no mood for talking, _and_ _isn't it weird, right, knowing that I usually have difficulties in shutting the fuck up_, and Jeff understands it perfectly.

"Need company or-"He trails off, waiting for Punk's response, but seemingly knowing the answer, because he's already halfway to the stairs to his bedroom.

"Nah, I'm cool. You go get some sleep," Punk replies reaching for a can of Pepsi from the fridge, trying his best not to stare at Jeff's ass in those low-riding pajama pants as the older man leaves the kitchen.

It's past time he'd compose himself and finally think the situation through, he realizes, and this is just as good a moment as any other. They have been together for so long, for no apparent reason, the _situation_ (he can't bring himself to call it a proper relationship) has annoyed him ever since it begun and the annoyance grows with every passing day. Nothing, literally _nothing_ is stopping Punk from breaking it all at once, except for the comfort and stability he has dragged himself into in those past two years. He's too used to having Matt by his side, someone so permanent and constant for a change, when nothing in his life has ever been stabile.

Sex is mediocre at best, but it's always there, same person, same scenario, permanent and steady as everything always is with Matt, even though a tad boring. This allows Punk to maintain his healthy urges while keeping up with his straight edge lifestyle. Yet another bonus point for Matt.

He doesn't love Matt, however. He never had, and for a while Punk wonders whether this is the real problem.  
Does Matt love him? He doesn't know. He doesn't care all that much, actually.  
He'd always thought love is overrated, that mutual understanding and respect and satisfying sex is just perfectly enough for a good, long lasting relationship. Until he met Jeff.

_You want a real fucking problem?_ He asks himself. _Then how 'bout that: I'm in love with Jeff for like a forever now, and do literally nothing about it._

It's the first time he openly admits his feelings towards Jeff, and as much as he would love to say that it brings him some relief, it really doesn't; if anything, it just brings more confusion.  
He is not sure how it all started. This certain attraction to Jeff was always there, for as long as he can remember, even longer than those two years he has spent in Matt's bed. Everything is different about him; the way he looks and talks and acts, the way he understands him better than anyone else does, the way he actually_ listens_ to him unlike Matt, and the way he looks at him. The way he loves him more than Matt ever did or will, and the way he keeps silent about it, respecting their friendship. This is why Punk remains silent about it too. Or at least that is how he justifies himself.

That's right, he loves Jeff and he probably loves him back, and yet he's with Matt, and no one knows how _he_ feels about the situation.  
Punk does absolutely nothing to alter anything in any way, for no explicable reason than that he's an idiot and a coward.

_Like a highscooler._  
_Would be hilarious, if it wouldn't be pathetic_.

He thinks of all the time he and Jeff had spent together. At first, when Punk just started going out with Matt, Jeff is so very awkwardly friendly; he laughs a lot, talks even more, he tries to make a good impression and Matt points that out later, when they are alone in their now shared bed, and Punk distinctively remembers how he laughed at that.  
Then there's the first time Punk stays at their house for a whole night, and _of course_ he can't fall asleep, he can't ever fucking sleep, and Jeff finds him sitting in the grass in the backyard, and they talk about meaningless stuff until stars start to fade out of the sky.

They almost kissed that time. Punk prefers never to think about it.

The same scenario repeats almost every time Punk stays at their place, minus the awkwardness and the kissing, except when Jeff actually has someone to share his own bed with. He sleeps around a lot, different person each time, be it a guy or a girl, they rarely even stay over for a full night.  
This annoys Punk to no end, not Jeff's slutty behavior, but the fact that it's not him he sleeps with. Of course, he doesn't realize that until now, he feels like a dog in the manger, not enjoying, but also growling at everyone else who attempts to.  
This is the other reason Punk never makes any passes on Jeff; he doesn't feel like being just another one on the list, and at this point he prefers Matt's stability over Jeff's open-mindness.

When did he become so domestic? Sitting tightly in the comfort zone had never been his thing. As long as he remembers, he was the one up for a change, for a challenge, the one who would stir the status quo and have some _fun. _He was that person who would never be tied up or held in one place, and now he deliberately chooses to do exactly the opposite.

Whatever happened?

He wants to break up with Matt, but he won't.  
He wants to give Jeff a chance, but he won't.  
Because he's a fucking coward.  
And an idiot.

* * *

Okay, so there's chapter 1 for you guys. I'm no good in diving deep in the story from the first pages, I just have to set the scene, sorry, if you find this slow and annoying. However those of you who enjoyed it, please review, that will make me a very happy woman.

Also, not sure I'll be able to update all that soon, since I'm finally going on a vacation and there's no telling whether I'll get any internet connection there.


	2. Turn the page

So sorry for a delay. I'm still on vacation, the internet is occasional, you name it. However, this one is twice as long as it was supposed to be, and I really hope it will be worth the wait.  
Song of the chapter is "Turn the Page" by Metallica.

* * *

Punk greets the next morning in the most horrible mood possible. He hadn't slept even a bit, he is angry at himself for that and especially that he has spent all night overthinking problems he is not going to fix. He hates himself for being such a coward, he hates that he has changed so much, and most of all he hates that his own feelings betray him.

He hates the very idea that he wants Jeff. It doesn't get better when he sees the older man around 6 a.m., returning from the shower, wrapped in a small towel and drops of water still glistening on his skin. Punk could swear he had never seen a hotter sight, he gulps and rushes to turn away his gaze, but he is half a second too late. Jeff notices his stare and says nothing on the matter, just smiles and keeps on walking, leaving Punk confused, semi-aroused and very pissed off.

_God fucking damn it._

He needs a relief, this is why he gets upstairs, anger boiling hot in his blood, fists clenching tight and eyes shining with a mixture of lust and blind fury. He breaks all the unwritten rules he and Matt have established over the time when he bursts into their bedroom and without any following ceremonies throws himself at Matt. Punk aggressively attacks his boyfriend's lips, and it is nowhere near the usual elegant wake-up kiss, it's all tongues and teeth, and even if Matt is startled by Punk's actions, he is glad to see so much passion coming from his lover. He doesn't like it rough, he never did, he usually tones down Punk's more aggressive desires, but this time he gives in.  
Punk frees himself from his clothes faster than usual, he quickly straddles Matt and now he's the one in charge and he never lets the control to slip away from him. He clutches Matt's hands above his head and holds them tight while still attacking his lips with his own. Not breaking the kiss, with one hand he reaches out for the lube on the nightstand, lets go of Matt's wrists and applies generous amount of substance on his fingers. Nothing holds Matt anymore except for Punk's thighs around his hips, but he doesn't change their position into a more acceptable one. The sight of Punk preparing himself is so breathtakingly arousing that Matt just lays and enjoys the view.

It doesn't take too long, and Punk, still not saying a single word, positions himself down on Matt's morning hard-on.

He starts rocking up and down, faster and harder than they usually do it, his back is arching, his shoulders pull back and his face lifted to the ceiling; he doesn't look at Matt; he doesn't see anything at all. Matt is not even certain whether Punk acknowledges the fact that it is him he's fucking – because that's how he'd call this, not love making, not even sex, but senseless fucking- because he deliberately breaks every rule they had in sex. He moans louder than Matt likes him to, he acts braver than he's used to, and even though he's bottoming as usual, it is Matt who feels fucked, not him.

Matt tries to put his hands on Punk's waist to acquire some sort of control over the situation, as he's used to, but Punk puts them back down immediately. He leans in, eyes wild and open, but still not looking at him; he manages to ignore Matt completely. Punk pulls one of his hands against Matt's shoulder as he strokes himself with the other in an approaching finish.  
His ass clenches tighter around Matt as he comes on their stomachs, and that sensation makes Matt reach the climax too. When they're done, Punk gets up and paces around the room, still naked (yet another thing he would normally never do), and Matt feels disgusted, fucked, used. He can't completely understand what exactly just happened here, so he just catches breath for a while and watches nervous Punk gathering his stuff from all over the room.

_Well, that was pointless_, Punk thinks to himself. Sex was supposed to calm him down, release the tension, but he just ended up displeasing Matt and making everything even more complicated. _Shit shit shit._ He doesn't feel any better than before, desperate anger still filling his every cell, but instead of spilling it all out he composes himself as much as he's capable of and calmly asks:  
"Are you going to Cleveland with me?"

Matt breathes out, this is a usual question, so it would seem that everything's getting back to normal; and this is exactly what he strives for – normality, stability, routine and calmness. If Punk is preparing for a trip, that means everything is ok with him, and the recent incident was completely occasional and is never to be repeated again.

"Of course not. I'll take a plane tomorrow, like normal people do." He taunts Punk for his love for long drives as he always does, just to establish the feeling of normality between them.  
"I hate to travel alone," Punk whines, and the whine seems half-assed, but Matt is as oblivious as ever and noticing such tiny details is just beyond him.  
"Then take Jeff, I'm sure he'd like a ride, you know he prefers to travel by ground and the tour bus makes him grumpy," Matt suggests casually. Punk and Jeff often would go on rides across the country together while Matt himself preferred flying.

_If I wouldn't know better, I'd think he does it on purpose, _thinks Punk_. Why the fuck else he would always try to get me and Jeff together, so we would feel more awkward; but knowing him, this is way too far-fetched. He probably just likes the fact that his perfect boyfriend and perfect brother are friends._

* * *

Punk loves moving. He, however, hates packing and preparing, this is why his car is always stacked with all the necessary means to survive, and he is always ready to hit the road.  
He used to hate traveling back in the indies, where they used to go in tiny old busses, stuffed with as many bodies as possible, half of them drunk after the show and the other half intensively getting there. Situation changed when he started to go on his own, when he finally could afford a decent car and gas for it to last a sixteen hour journey. He now finds it fascinating how he grows into liking something he used to despise so much. Of course, he has his own bus now, he has his company plane, but the old school driving now is something entirely different. A certain change in status and state of maturity, he figures, finding joy in something he used to hate, might symbolize his growth as a person.

It all changes even more when Jeff joins him in his travels.

They have those huge twenty hour drives sometimes, with only a few stops for coffee, and Punk always drives while Jeff chatters without stopping to keep them both awake. He offers to replace him at least for a few hours, but Punk never agrees, and it's not that he doesn't trust Jeff with his car. Punk laughs at the offer each time and each time there's the same dialogue going on:  
"You can sleep while I'm driving, and I couldn't if you were."  
"You don't trust my skills that much?"  
"No, I just don't sleep."

Punk yells at other drivers, especially those who talk on their phones, and his continuous rants is an undying source of Jeff's amusement. He especially finds it hilarious when he notices that Punk texts while driving and doesn't find that a problem in the slightest. When asked why, he simply shrugs and replies:  
"I'm a better driver."

It is always fun when they travel together, regardless of his mood, Jeff always sets everything right. This is just how Jeff works.

But it's different this time.

He knocks on Jeff's door to inform him that he hits the road to Cleveland in twenty minutes and ask him whether he would like to join him. Jeff accepts the offer without a slightest hesitation, and in half an hour (Jeff can never prepare as fast as he is supposed to) they start a long trip from Cameron to Cleveland.

They don't talk the first two hours, Jeff understands that Punk is still in no mood for chatter, but finally his curiosity gets the better of him.  
"Were you and Matt fighting or something? You seem upset."  
Punk just throws him a glance and chooses not to answer.

_I could bet that you know exactly what is wrong._

"However, from the noises in the morning and the way you smell of sex even through your shower gel I think that you didn't," Jeff notes a bit provocatively, and daringly continues to push the limits even further."Actually, you sounded more satisfied than ever," he grins and winks at Punk.  
"My satisfaction or the lack of such is none of your concern," Punk finally replies coldly. This is one of those rare moments where Jeff annoys him, but no matter how much, the annoyance is still mixed with burning desire and that tingly fuzzy feeling in his heart that he, even though reluctantly, calls love.

"And this is where you're wrong," Jeff purrs as he places his hand on Punk's thigh and starts circling his thumb closer and closer to Punk's groin.  
Punk can sense the prior mentioned tingly feeling quickly running down from the heart to more southern regions. God fucking damn it, he thinks for a second time today, but instead says:  
"Dude. What the fuck. I'm driving." He wishes his voice to sound much more casual and calm, but his thigh even through thick layer of jeans can feel the heat radiating from Jeff's palm, and his skin under it burns too, and his underwear is suddenly getting way tighter than he remembered it to be initially.  
"Then pull over," Jeff murmurs in Punk's ear, lips almost touching his ear, warm breath tickling the hair on his temples.

Surprising both Jeff and himself, he actually does.  
"Jeff, what the hell?" He mutters, avoiding looking at his friend. His thoughts lose any coherency, because Jeff not only doesn't stop, he actually proceeds even further and now his palm is cupping the bulge in Punk's pants.  
"You seem tensed, my dear. Need help?" He has never been this bold before, all they ever limited themselves with were occasional winks and stares; both wanting each other from the moment they met and both knowing that none of them would ever dare to attempt something. But now Jeff loses his patience. He wants Punk, he wants him more than anything, and he does for quite a while, and he believes he deserves it now.

"This is my problem," Punk says under his breath, not able to pull Jeff's hand from his clothed erection, because that would certainly stop this madness, and he is not sure whether he wants it to end.

"I'm sure you know it's usually a problem for at least two people," Jeff smiles as he unfastens Punk's pants, slides his hand inside and starts to stroke Punk's fully ready member.

Punk moans and unconsciously thrusts into Jeff's hand, biting his lip and closing his eyes shut. If he is going to go down like this, he'd better not see his own embarrassment.  
Jeff just grins at just how responsive Punk is as he continues to jerk him off. His thumb gently strokes the head of Punk's cock, and Jeff finally hears a whisper, so silent that for a while he thinks he imagined it:  
"Just blow me already."

And so he does.

* * *

They lay on their seats, their bodies a tangled mess, embarrassment filling the air between them, where Jeff is ashamed of his actions and Punk – for the lack of such from his side. He feels weak, hell, how come he is always so weak when it comes to Jeff, but he wanted him so badly that he never stood a chance. Resistance wasn't even an option. But acknowledging that fact does not make him feel better even in the slightest.

Punk's catching breath a bit longer than it would seem natural. They don't speak; even though Jeff has a billion questions to ask and more things to say, he doesn't. Punk's silence is an automatic answer to some of the questions before they are even asked, and Jeff decides to wait him out.  
A pointless thing to do, some would say. Nothing he has to tell is worth hearing; he'd probably try to justify himself, apologize or some other bullshit and Jeff is not sure if he wants to deal with it.

"I'm sorry Jeff-"Punk begins but trails off, apparently not knowing what exactly he should apologize for.

_Ha, I knew it._

"Congratulations. You just deliberately cheated on your boyfriend. "Jeff doesn't want to be mean on purpose, just for the sake of being mean, but he just can't stand Punk's behavior anymore. This uncertainty annoys him, he feels bad for both Matt and Phil, but mostly he pities himself. If anyone will end up heartbroken, it will be him. Matt would manage to get over it, he doesn't love Punk as much as he wants everyone to believe, and Punk… Well, Punk was never known to be the sensitive one.

"Don't bring Matt into this," Punk sighs and strokes his face, hoping to wipe the situation off his face.  
"You brought Matt into this two years ago," Jeff retorts mercilessly. "Knowing perfectly that I loved you more."

The past tense does not escape Punk's attention.

"Listen, Jeff, the last thing I want to do is to hurt you. I'd love to explain all of this somehow, but I just-"  
"Don't. You're so good at running away from questions, that answering them now would be just completely out of character. "

Punk sighs and remains silent, because he has nothing to defend himself with.

"Besides, I don't intend to ruin your relationship just like that. I've never seen Matt so happy and you so less…" Jeff trails off searching for a word to describe Punk's change. "Less edgy? " Wrong one. "Less of a rude rebellious asshole?" He tries again, and then it hits him. "Right. I've never seen you so much less you."  
"You're saying it as if it's a bad thing."  
"How good the loss of personality can be? Since when the famous CM Punk is a soft, domestic, boring piece of ass?!"  
"He likes me more that way," Punk shrugs, barely offended, even though it was Jeff's intention. Jeff wants him to finally react, show some feelings towards him, be it love or hate, it would still be better than this blank indifference.  
"Since when do you care who likes you, Punk? Since when you turn your skin and change your very being just for a regular fuck?"  
"Since I'm trying to have a fucking committed relationship instead of wiggling my ass in front of everyone who is willing to shove a dick up it!"

_Ouch._ That was a bit too much.

Suddenly everything is just slipping out of their hands; best friends half an hour ago and lovers after, now they are purposely trying to hurt each other as much as possible. The last thing both of them wants to lose one another just like that, but what happened between them puts a deadly weight on their friendship. They know they are crossing the borders, and soon there won't be a way back, this is why Jeff suddenly looks at Punk, forces out a smile and jokingly says:  
"Jealous?"  
It takes Punk a few seconds to understand that Jeff is trying to break the tension between them, that he actually tries to laugh the situation off, and then plays along.  
"You wish," He laughs.  
Nothing is actually funny, but they laugh, because this is their only way to restore their relationship. Jeff punches Punk in the shoulder, he punches back and in no time it turns into a friendly mini-fight in the car. Punk ends it all reminding both of them that they have a trip to continue, and they are far behind their schedule.

"No breaks for next five hours," Punk decides and Jeff nods in agreement. Five hours without breaks is too much for Punk to bear, but Jeff doesn't argue. Peace between them is too fragile. This is why he curls up in his seat and starts to slowly doze out, not wanting to deal with anything anymore.

* * *

"Hey," Jeff feels a gentle push on his shoulder. He murmurs something incomprehensive and dwells back to sleep.  
"HEY," The push is much stronger now, and Jeff really has no other choice then to open his eyes. It should be around dawn at this time, judging from the dim light through the fog around the car. They're still moving, and Jeff wonders whether Punk has taken any breaks since they hit the road after the…incident. He turns around and stretches, and Punk smiles, looking more at Jeff than on the road, there is a faint trace of certain softness in his look. His bad mood is gone somewhere, and Jeff likes to believe that to be his own merit. Traces of their argument are gone too, from both of them, to his surprise.

"You know, you could go to the back, way more comfy there."  
For a while Jeff just stares at him in blank annoyed disbelief.  
"You woke me up just to tell me to go sleep in the back?"  
"Well yeah," Punk grins. "You're welcome."  
This is just about as much of caring as Punk is capable of showing, and that makes Jeff's heart melt a little.  
"Jerk," says Jeff.

Lovingly, of course.

* * *

And there we have chapter 2, my dear readers. Tell me what did you think of it, reviews=love=motivation to write :) Hopefully next update will be sooner.


	3. Let's get this party started

First off, I'd like to thank all the reviewers, especially **TayTay4936,** for her elaborate comments that just make my day and motivate me to write.  
You people are all awesome! Thank you!  
Here goes chapter three, inspired by the song "Let's get this party started" by Korn, and you need to get to the end to see why :) Enjoy:

* * *

Matt locks the door behind his brother and boyfriend, sighs with a noticeable relief and goes to the kitchen for a cup of morning coffee. He usually doesn't drink coffee when Punk is home, Matt knows that Punk doesn't drink it and therefore Matt avoids it himself, unconsciously trying to please Punk in every smallest detail. But Punk's gone, so he pours himself a huge mug and steps out to the balcony.  
It seems to be yet another nice day off, and he has nowhere to hurry until tomorrow afternoon's flight to the next show.  
He briefly runs the day's schedule in his head and realizes that except for two hours of workout he has nothing to do. The thought makes Matt smile lazily, and he stretches out in the chair, enjoying an amazing start of the day. This whole weekend was almost perfect, Matt thinks, replaying scenes from the past two days in his mind. First, a nice dinner out with Philly. Oddly enough, his rebellious lover agrees to put on fancy clothes instead of his usual ripped jeans and a t-shirt and goes to a French restaurant with him. He is only slightly grumpy, mostly about the lack of vegetarian meals, but generally he behaves well. Dinner is followed by slow romantic sex and falling asleep in each other's hands. Then they both wake up around noon, Punk is hard to get out of bed, so they stay for a while longer, cuddle and chat, and the noon somehow slowly flows into the early evening, and for the rest of the time they just hang out around the house, joined by Jeff, who doesn't bring any of his lovers for a change and feels a bit lonely.

Matt likes to think that everything is calm, steady and perfect. He has a happy relationship with an amazing man, his career is as successful as it is likely to get, his little brother is doing well and is always by his side, so Matt could take care of him if need be. And everything really _is_ perfect, at least for Matt, at least for that one morning, at least until his phone rings completely unexpectedly and drags Matt out of his lazy satisfaction.

One glance at the screen ruins the mood immediately.

Even though he never answers these calls anymore, he still feels guilty about it.

Phone rings for good two minutes before it finally shuts up, and the person who was trying to contact him so desperately doesn't make a second attempt, though he always does. With a sigh of relief, Matt turns it off, even though Punk might call later on from the road, as he usually does when Jeff falls asleep and he needs to talk to someone. But suddenly Matt feels that he just doesn't want to speak to anyone for a while.

Even Punk.

_Especially _Punk.

He always mocks Punk for running away from his problems, and yet he does the exact same thing for three months now. He already thought he has successfully escaped the so-called problem, but here it is again, calling him on this perfect morning and reminding that the perfection is as far as ever. Truth is, he made a mistake three months ago, only once, but one single night was enough to ruin his illusion of perfection ever since and haunt him at most inappropriate times. Like now.

_God damn it_, he thinks burying his face in his hands, and he can't help but feel guilty, so guilty it hurts_. I should tell him._ But the thing is that he doesn't know what he should tell exactly_. Hey, darling, don't be mad, but I slept with other guy? _How on earth would he justify himself? _I fucked someone else, but I still love you?_

But does he…? Did he ever…?

No, that's not true, he loved Punk, he really did. And he still does. But love is not enough.  
He realizes that love does not necessarily mean compatibility, and it is a hard lesson to learn, especially when you're head over heels, and want it all to work out so desperately, which it rarely does. Somehow everyone always thinks that love just magically solves everything, and so did Matt, but now he understands that he and Punk are just too different.

And this is why he did what he did.

Being with someone else is so thrilling and refreshing, and even though Matt was absolutely sure he didn't crave for anything else than Punk, change is good.  
His new partner is so different from Punk. He seems to have forgotten how other people taste and feel like, and when he sleeps with another guy, it seems like the best sex he ever had, or like it was the first lay he got after a long while. _Compatibility. _While he always has to suppress Punk's more aggressive nature and changeable nature because Punk would like him to be rougher and more creative and generally completely _different_, and he just can't, this time he seems to have found a perfect match, where each of them seems to understand each other's preferences and wishes from half a touch. It is so new to Matt that some part of him almost says the words previously reserved for Punk and Punk only.

He doesn't.

His partner, however, is less reserved.

"I love you, Matt," He says under his breath and hell, Matt just freaks out. He doesn't know how to deal with the situation, and does the only thing he finds safe to do: he runs.

He is running for quite a while now, he never picks up his calls, never replies to his texts, he avoids him in the locker rooms and roster gatherings. It doesn't seem too unnatural, they have never been very close (Matt grins mentally, in fact they were pretty damn _close_), and only Jeff seems to notice that something's amiss between those two.

Jeff. Of course he knows. He knows virtually everything that is related to Matt's and Punk's relationship, every single thing that could possibly help him win this unspoken competition between them.  
Even though Matt would like to think he had won this time, he can't really enjoy the supposed victory. He is not as oblivious as everyone thinks. He can see how Jeff looks at Punk and how Punk looks at Jeff. He can see the dynamics and the chemistry between the two; he can see that they would be much better together. He however knows for certain they never went further than friendship. Many times he thought that he should let Punk go, but he's just too selfish. He needs this grumpy, funny, crazy and changeable hazel-eyed mess of a person beside him at all times, and even though there are more things that annoy him about Punk than the things he actually likes, he is determined to keep him. This is what he calls unconditional love.

Or at least he did until three months ago.

He remembers Punk's behavior this morning, his coldness, the way he ignored Matt's preferences and wants and Matt in general and the way Jeff looked at him as if he understood Punk from his every move. And then it hits him, a realization final and irreversible: Punk doesn't love him and probably never did.

And somehow this just sets everything right.

Matt takes the last sip of the already cold coffee, turns his phone back on and dials the number he had already learned by heart.

He smiles at the disbelief and shock of the person on the other side of the line.

"Good morning, Chris. I think we need to talk, don't you?"

* * *

Show is in progress, the crowd is satisfied with the matches, even though Vince keeps complaining about the recent lack of good storylines.  
Punk is on his way to their locker room, the one he shares with Matt from the time they went official and learned they would need privacy more often than just back in the hotels and sex before and after the matches brings a certain sparkle in the mood; it all seems to have happened so long ago that Punk just smiles and shakes his head. This is just as good a moment to break it as any other, he thinks, knowing that his current mood would help him to deal with the situation better. He is pissed off and dissatisfied, he had just lost yet _another_ match to Randy, the man had always seemed fucking unbeatable to him. He never thought he would actually beat him, but somehow this defeat hit him especially hard. He's grumpier than ever, and in some way he even pities Matt, knowing that in this state he is not exactly in control of his words and actions.

But he hopes it will give him a shot at Jeff, and he thinks it would work this time.

There is something suspicious about their locker room, however, the door is slightly opened, which is unusual enough, and Punk silently approaches to investigate.

First he hears whispers, sounds of clothes being taken off, and then distinctive sound of an intense kiss. He just crooks his head and frowns disapprovingly. _Jeff, you slut_. It's not a rare thing that Jeff would bring some of his fucks to their locker room, since his own was shared with more guys.

Punk's jaw almost falls to the ground when after he widens the door a little bit more he sees _Matt's_ bare back and someone else's arms wrapped around it; he forgets how to breathe when he realizes that the other person has noticed him peeking through the door and now a pair of ice blue eyes stare at him.

Everything happens fast.

Punk still is not able to move or speak or react at all, when Chris Jericho pulls away from Matt, angry and hurt, and yells at their apparently mutual boyfriend.

"I thought you said you broke up with him!"

"He didn't," Punk finally manages to mutter.

Matt is shocked and embarrassed, now he is the one left speechless.

"I guess I'll leave you guys to sort your mess on your own," Chris spits out, turning to the door, and Punk instinctively moves out of the way.

"I'll call you," tries Matt, but the door slams closing, and now there's only him and Punk, staring at each other, and uncomfortable silence hanging between them.

"You know, I'm not even that mad. I don't love you anymore anyway." Words cold as ice, tone indifferent and blank, all part of Punk's perfect artistic skills and outstanding self-control. "There's nothing in you for me, Matt. You're not interesting or charming; you're not even particularly smart. All you have are this pretty face and those 15 centimeters." He realizes that he's just trying to be hurtful on purpose, but he just doesn't give a shit anymore. After this kind of betrayal he wants to hurt Matt as hard as he can.

Matt stares at Punk, shocked, disappointed, heartbroken.

"Eighteen," he mumbles helplessly. He does realize that he's probably arguing about the wrong thing, but he just can't wrap his head around this conversation, he suddenly loses all the understanding and control over Punk he always was so proud of, and hell, it seems that he is losing Punk as well. He has no idea why he cares so much and yet he still does. He feels ripped apart between Punk and Chris, but it seems that he just blew it with both of them.

Punk just sneers at his reply.  
"You wish," He laughs mockingly.

Matt replies almost instinctively, in self defense, and he wants Punk to be hurt even more than he was.

"Well, at least now you are free to go and confess your undying love to my brother." He sneers. "If you are that stupid, that is."

Punk gives him a puzzled look.

"You never thought he was _into_ you, right? It was a competition between us, a feud, if you will. He always wanted what I had and vice versa, and he just couldn't cope with the fact I won this time."

"Fuck you both," Punk says holding his middle finger in the air as he leaves the locker room. It was a lame comeback, but given the circumstances, he's unable to think of any better.

Never in his life has Punk been so betrayed. Even when his parents always gave everything to his brother but not him; even when his own brother stole all the money they made together; even when the company he has worked so hard for completely ignored all of his achievements. He never expected anything else from these people, he never trusted them in the first place, therefore the betrayal painful as it was has never hurt _this_ bad. Matt was something he could always rely on, a certain anchor in his life, the one he could always trust on being there for him. And now this. He had never figured Matt for a backstabber, but then again, this wasn't the first person he would judge wrongly.

Like Jeff, for example.

He was absolutely certain Jeff loved him, or at least wanted him more than just as some sort of stupid prize. He was wrong.

He is almost crying, to his own contempt, when he reaches the roof of the arena, where he usually likes to come and think. It's freezing cold, but he doesn't notice or care.

"Would you mind if I smoke?" He recognizes the voice behind him, and the voice that would have made him the happiest man alive just half an hour ago now sounds bitter.

"I wouldn't mind even if you shoot yourself."

"C'mon Punker, that's just being mean for no reason."

"I'm always mean for no reason," Punk retorts and Jeff has to agree. After a while he feels that he needs to break the silence, even if his attempts to comfort will not be appreciated or accepted.

"So it's over then. You and Matt."

"He cheated on me. Can you believe this? Matt. Of all people."

"I knew it," Jeff sighs as he puts his hand on Punk's shoulder.

"You did?! Why the fuck haven't you told me?"  
Another betrayal. How many of them can he handle in one night? Somehow he has managed to get betrayed by the two people the trusted the most within a timeframe of an hour. This is ridiculous; he always knew not to be the most loveable person around, but losing a boyfriend _and_ a best friend at the same time was just too much even for him.  
Jeff knew Matt has cheated on him, and he never bothered to tell; Jeff, the person he considered his best friend, the person who he secretly loved for years and believed that his feelings are returned, the person he was ready to break a two-year-long relationship for. In the end, he just turned out to be another lying backstabbing slut.

"I just never wanted you to get hurt," Whispers Jeff and Punk really wants to believe him, but he can't. Not anymore.

"Are we cool?" Jeff asks, too proud to ask for forgiveness, too proud even to think he has something to apologize for. He hates to see Punk hurt, but in some way he thinks he deserve it, and the situation gives him a clear shot at Punk which he is not going to miss.

Punk narrows his eyes; he is sad, he is heartbroken and betrayed, but he is also very, very angry. And he already has a plan for a perfect revenge. _You want a feud? You should get one._

"Yes, Jeff. We're cool," He says, lifting his gaze from the horizon and looking into Jeff's bright green eyes. _It's gonna hurt,_ he realizes leaning in and pressing his lips to Jeff's; _but I have to suffer it through if I want to hurt them even more._

* * *

This is it, dear readers! From here on we're finally going somewhere, meaning actual drama and all that. From this point the story is almost written, so if I get to the internet more often here, the updates will be soon.

Don't forget to review, you make me very happy :)


	4. Gives you hell

Ok, so here the Royal Rumble of 2009, where the Hardy feud begun, and the SmackDown event in August, where Jeff got fired, are put pretty close together for my own convenience. Just roll with me on this one.  
Also, thank you my awesome loyal reviewers, I hope you will enjoy this one, since it was particularly hard to write.

* * *

_How to fuck with both of them without __**actually **__fucking either of them? _This thought haunts Punk for a while now; this becomes his aim and purpose for the foreseeable future. He has been hurt so badly by both of them, so it only seems logical to cause them twice as much pain as he had suffered.

It is easier to say than to do, though; he has a hard time thinking of revenge on either of them. On one hand, he still loves Jeff and the loving side of him wants to prevent Jeff from any harm; on the other hand, he doesn't even know where to start.

Two weeks after the break up with Matt he calls Pun and this is when he gets a more or less clear idea on how to make them pay for his twice broken heart.

Matt wants him to come back (because he of course immediately moved out of their house in Cameron back to his own old apartment in Chicago). Matt apologizes and cries into the phone, telling that he loves him and that he will do anything to get him back. Punk feels flattered, even though doesn't believe him entirely.

He doesn't agree to pretend that nothing ever happened and just get back together. But he doesn't say "no" either.

He smiles to himself, texting Jeff an offer to meet up after the show for dinner.

* * *

For everyone it starts on Royal Rumble, when Matt suddenly attacks Jeff with a chair and delivers his promo on how he hated him all this time. This is how the viewers see it, this is how their colleagues think it all begun, nothing more than just another successful storyline.

Punk knows how it all actually begun because he was there.

He was meeting up with both Matt and Jeff separately for a while now. He couldn't call it _dating_, though, they don't exactly to all those couply things, but it is enough to bring some tension into their relationship.

Punk knows the party has started when Jeff moves out to his house in Raleigh.

Few weeks before the famous Royal Rumble Punk is making out with Jeff in his hotel room, when Matt catches them. Needless to say, Punk had given the key to his room to Matt himself. He never tries to hide, if anything, he actually encourages their suspicions, but this is the first time the brothers confront each other openly.

"He is mine," Matt growls to Jeff face, standing so close that Jeff can feel the body heat and anger radiating from him.

_He was yours_, Jeff wants to say_, you had your chance and blew it, you could have Chris now and no right to claim Phil anymore_, he wants to shout to his brother. _I have the right now, I always loved him more, I deserve him more than you, and he will see that, he definitely will, I just have to prove that and he will be mine. _There are so many things he wants to tell Matt, but he chooses to make his point differently.

He punches him in the face.

* * *

How to know when to stop? When would he realize that this is it, he had reached the limit, he has caused enough pain and his revenge is over? He has no idea. What started as little game for his own amusement to make him feel better for their betrayals now had gone completely out of hand.  
Punk never does anything half-ass, neither does he stop halfway through achieving a goal, but when is it achieved? How can he define?

At first he thought he would stop after making both Jeff and Matt fight for him. It all was like some sort of a stupid teenage highschool drama, but when the conflict seeps through to the stage, it's just way too much fun to quit.  
It turns into a huge Hardy vs. Hardy feud, the fans go crazy, ratings and sales go up and a loving brotherly relationship is ruined forever.

Vince is happy.

"I don't know how you did this, but you gave WWE a best feud in past few years," he says to Punk, excited, and the rebellious superstar for the first time doesn't want to throw up in his face. He feels satisfied.

If there was anything the Hardy brothers valued, it was their good relationship; Matt cared for Jeff and was always a tad overprotective towards him, and Jeff answered for that care with the same amount of love, even though not always showing it. And now they can't even be in the same room without punching each other in the face.  
They both believe to have a chance with Punk; Matt realizes his past mistakes and is ready to change and do whatever it takes to get him back. Jeff thinks his feelings are answered and they are about to develop a relationship.

Both of them are wrong.

Punk encourages and lies to both of them, giving them false hope. He doesn't sleep with either of them, he is true to his principles, but there are other ways to make them dance and compete according to his will. A suggestive touch here, a kiss there and naughty text messages before bedtime. The game is on, the feud is in process, brotherly love ruined, but Punk wants more. He wants to break them.

He briefly considers quitting when Jeff's house burns down and Matt is suspected, when he sees the constant pain in Jeff's eyes, he's looking for Punk's comfort, and no matter how much he would like to give in, that would be against the rules he had set for this game.  
He thinks of stopping when he and Matt are caught by Chris kissing (he finds it particularly hilarious how the situation has turned around), and when Chris dumps Matt for good, Punk sees the pain in him, he's waiting for Punk to say that he loves him and bring their relationship back, and no matter how much Punk would like to reassure him, he'd be lying.

"You have to choose," Colt says watching the situation from afar, "You can't have both of them." He is genuinely worried about Punk and that he's just getting himself into more trouble than he'd be able to get out of. _Little does he know_, thinks Punk, _it's not a choice, is responsibility to finish what I've started_.

God knows, now he would really like to stop, he is quite satisfied with the amount of pain he has caused both directly and not, but he just can't quit halfway through the goal. Recent news he had heard from Vince make him grin; one single match to end it all.

* * *

It's just another SmackDown show, just another regular Friday night, nothing unusual, except one small detail, one particular match everyone in and out of the locker rooms awaits the most. The steel cage rematch for the World Heavyweight Championship between CM Punk and Jeff Hardy. The loser will leave the company forever.

The outcome, to Punk's big surprise, is not initially pre-defined, but Vince has hinted once that losing the match would bring Jeff some long-needed rest and recovery from his injuries. _Sure, injuries_, thinks Punk but says nothing. Now he rarely does; he is, for once, quite satisfied with his career and the management, and although he might have some complaints about how he is being treated, there will be time to deal with that. He has more pressing scores to settle.

He doesn't have a particular locker room that would belong to him now, he changes the rooms to use depending on his mood and on which Hardy brother he wants to tease – yet another one of his tiny methods to annoy each of them. And on this one particular night he chooses Jeff's locker room, and although it is usually shared, when Punk opens the door he finds Jeff alone. _How convenient._

He catches the older man in the process of changing, and unintentionally Punk steals a glimpse of Jeff's bare ass being covered in those loose and low-riding black cargo pants_, without any underwear put on previously_, Punk notes as he gulps and shivers. His immediate want is to take advantage of Jeff going commando and that impulse surprises him; he had never been known to turn on so fast, and he snorts at himself for acting like lovesick teenager. _This is ridiculous,_ he thinks, _he is lovesick teenager, not me. Which doesn't mean I can't just have some fun with that._

He clearly startles Jeff by approaching from behind; the older man is listening to music on his ipod and humming. Punk just grins at how adorable that looks and without further ado wraps his arms around Jeff's waist. Jeff almost jumps, caught off guard, but doesn't really object when he notices that it's Punk who now is pushing him to the wall and pressing against it.

"You have exactly two seconds to push me away or kick me in the nuts," Punk whispers in his ear, voice thick and low, not-so-gently biting Jeff's earlobe, and Jeff can just feel Punk grinning in knowing that Jeff is not going to do either of those things.  
"No matter how tempting that sounds," He replies turning around in the embrace and facing Punk, "I think I have some other use for them." Every time Punk approaches him with intentions like that, he freaks the hell out, he never knows how to react properly, because at this point the only presence of Punk in the same room drives him completely nuts both with unrelenting desire and annoyed confusion. He never objects though; resistance is useless when it comes to Punk, therefore he just limits himself with snarky comments and light teases.  
"Sure you do," Punk smirks and presses his lips to Jeff's; the latter one responds eagerly, way more eagerly than he would like, but he can't help himself, this is how much he wants Punk. He constantly tries to take over the initiative, but his attempts are cut off with Punk biting his lip and shoving his tongue deep into Jeff's mouth. Like every time, this is all about domination. Jeff's hands slide under Punk's t-shirt, he is tracing well-defined muscles of Punk's back and shoulders, but doesn't linger on them for too long and moves on to the buckle of his pants; he thinks he should tease him for a while, but changes his mind feeling Punk's growing arousal. He manages to undress Punk way faster that he thought it was possible with the hands as shaky as his are at the moment, and his own pants are lost in no time, as he briefly wonders why did he even bother to put them on at all.

When exactly the roles have changed and he got pressed to the wall instead of Jeff, Punk can't quite recall; he is just standing there trembling now from those wet long kisses Jeff is now placing down his chest, he shivers even more from brief acute pain when Jeff's teeth find his nipples, not being gentle at all, but Punk doesn't even want him to.  
Desire runs hot in Punk's blood; it burns hotter than fire, leaving ashes from his moral principles against one night stands. His thoughts lose any order or sense, he just lets out a throaty moan when Jeff kneels softly and then there're Jeff's lips on Punk's cock, and Punk's hips shift and thrust messily when Jeff swallows him whole. Instinctively he reaches out for Jeff's hair, trying to pull him closer and set his own pace.

Pleasure ends abruptly when Jeff lifts his head and slaps Pun's hand.

"Do that again and you'll be left dickless."

"_Sassy son of a bitch_," Punk thinks, or he _would_ think, if he would still be able to. But now, with Jeff's lips sliding up and down, his tongue teasingly circling on the head, thoughts are the last thing Punk bothers himself with. He obeys and keeps his hands to himself, clenching them tightly, nails digging deep in his palms.  
That is, until Jeff goes for another deepthroat, relaxing his throat and swallowing all of Punk again_. Fuck it,_ Punk decides then and, grabbing a handful of Jeff's bright orange hair, fucks his mouth in short, sharp thrusts.  
Then Jeff lets go of him again and this time his tongue travels to Punk's ass when his hands spread Punk's legs even more apart. The feeling of his entrance being licked is so unusual and so amazing, that Punk just can't hold it any longer. Jeff notices Punk's abdominal muscles clenching faster than before and he's just in time to take Punk's cock in his mouth to swallow his cum.

"Such an excitement for a tongue in your butthole, Punker, that it makes me wonder whatever will happen when a dick gets there," Jeff taunts getting up from his knees and leaning in for a long, slow kiss.

"What makes you think it will get there at all?" Punk retorts when they finally part their lips. "And surely, you're not expecting me to return the favor?" He asks after Jeff's hands find their way to Punk's shoulders and start to pull him down gently.

_Of course. What was I thinking._

"I'm not that naïve, Punk," Jeff smiles, attempting not to look as hurt as he actually feels. How does it always end with Punk coming and claiming Jeff as if he'd have all the rights to? How does it always end up in Jeff letting him?

"C'mon, don't be like that, Nero. I've got big plans for you tonight," Punk winks and pats Jeff's shoulder, as if comforting a sad child. "Meet me after our match."  
He then goes on and puts on his ring gear, provocatively exposing his bare ass to Jeff, not worrying in the slightest that Jeff will actually fulfill his threat and take advantage of such a position. He knows Jeff wouldn't dare to without an invitation. _I trained him well_, he thinks grinning, and then there's almost time for their match. Time for the last piece in Punk's perfect revenge.  
"Good luck," they say to each other at the exact same time. They laugh at the coincidence knowing that neither of them actually means it.

Punk throws one last glance at Jeff, his former best friend, his on-and-off (but usually off) lover, his enemy and opponent. Jeff goes for one last cigarette before the match right in the locker room, and as his eyes vaguely trace the smoke floating in the air, there is something that gives away Jeff's mood about the match. His head's down, shoulders stooped, gaze distant and sad. He hugs himself staring into nowhere, clearly far out of this room and the mach he shoud try his best to win.

_This is an attitude and look of a loser_, Punk realizes. _He had lost this match before it even started._

* * *

Winning is easy.

Coping with its consequences is much harder.

Seeing Jeff defeated, all he ever cared for being ripped away from him, makes Punk's heart bleed, he wants to stop it all right now and fix everything as much as possible, but there is one last piece in the puzzle, an, of course, it just makes everything worse, as it is supposed to.  
Needless to say, he never returns to Jeff's locker room, borrowing clothes from Kofi. He flies to Chicago immediately, since he had bought the ticket long ago, and now he has a whole free week to rest and enjoy his victory.  
Back in his apartment, Punk grabs his phone and quickly composes a message:

"I think it's hilarious how you two fight over me, considering I don't like either of you," Punk texts. To both of them. And then to Jeff: "I did say come and meet me. Never said where. So, sorry Nero, but your princess is in another castle!"

It is time to get it all over with, to let them both know he never was into either of them, and make a last shoot at Jeff. Everything over, Punk doesn't feel happy even in the slightest. He lies in his bed, alone, miserable and wide awake, he can't ever fucking sleep, he stares at the ceiling and realizes how pointless everything was. He thought it would make him feel better, but it didn't. If anything, it makes him feel even worse for ruining Matt's blossoming relationship with Chris and wrecking Jeff's career.

He tries calling Jeff even though he has no idea what he would say, but he doesn't pick up.

Punk is not surprised.

What he _is_ surprised about, however, is the phone call he receives at 5 a.m. next morning, just when he finally managed to fall asleep.  
The number is unknown, so Punk figures it's just someone wanting to congratulate him on his championship.

It isn't.

"Listen up, you asshole," A very angry voice spits out without any introductions, southern accent so similar to Jeff's, but it's clearly not him.

"Asshole here," Punk responds. "With whom _I_ have a pleasure of talking?"

"Believe me, there ain't gonna be no pleasure," The voice growls, and now Punk thinks that he has heard it somewhere before. "It's Shannon," Voice is kind enough to add.

Shannon, _of course_. A crazy kid with funny hair and nice tattoos. Jeff's close friend.

"Listen, kid-"  
"No, you listen, you son of a bitch. Do you have a slightest idea what have you done to Jeff today and all these weeks?"  
"Of course I do. I was the one doing them."

For a while phone is just spitting pointless, but very creative curses at him, and Punk frowns moving the phone a bit further from his ear. It takes a good deal of time before Shannon manages to compose himself and get down to business.

"We had agreed to meet up with Jeff but he never showed up. He's not answering the phone calls either," Shannon is worried so much, that the concern in his tone almost manages to push away the hatred. "I'm afraid he relapsed again."

Punk's eyes widen. _Fuck_. This is bad. Very, very bad. He still manages to remain his snarky self and asks:

"So why aren't you banging his door now instead of wasting my beauty sleep? Thought you guys lived close."

"He… is not in Raleigh anymore."

Punk knows Jeff moved somewhere out when his house burned, but he never cared to ask where exactly.

"I still fail to see how this is my problem."

There is a long pause between them, and then Shannon says with so much hatred, contempt and anger Punk never knew the younger man was capable of:

"He's in Chicago, motherfucker."

* * *

Phew! That was tough! Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did while was thinking the plot through.  
The song is "Gives You Hell" by All American Rejects.  
Reviews are greatly anticipated.


	5. New Low

Yes, an update in a day! Special thanks for motivating me goes to **showstopper87** (even though I doubt she'll see it) for fulfilling my request on Punk/Colt. You should go see it. It's cool.

Also, my dear reviewers:  
**TayTay4936**: Couldn't keep you waiting, so here it is :)  
**Always Straightedge and proud**: I do seriously doubt it ;)

**Warning:** graphic descriptions of drug abuse, OD and withdrawal, so sensitive ones, beware!  
No matter how much I love reading about Jeff, it always annoys me that somehow it's magically forgotten that he is, in fact, a junkie. I couldn't let this pass, so sorry if you find it too explicit.  
Other than that, enjoy!

* * *

The place is a mess.  
The garbage bags standing outside the apartment door don't surprise him much. Jeff rarely bothers himself with taking out the trash, usually leaving it behind the door until someone would pick it up. This time it seems it has been there for quite a while, varying in the state of decay. The door is open, but even if it was closed, it doesn't seem to be able to hold any pressure applied. However, it definitely eases Punk's entrance, even though raises a whole lot more suspicions and bad feelings.

He dials the number again.

A faint melody reaches him from somewhere deep in the apartment, but no one answers. That doesn't surprise him either; he didn't answer to Shannon, why would he want to talk to him, after all that he's done? But the melody means he's there, and Punk makes his way through the slightly crooked door to the apartment.  
He's never been here before, and for a while he wonders whether it has always looked like this. Windows are shut and covered with heavy curtains, letting as little light as possible, so it takes a while for Punk to adjust to the darkness, but when he finally does, he briefly wishes it would've remained that way.

Punk isn't exactly the tidiest person himself, but this was far beyond that. He has seen this level of chaos back in the day, in his teens, when he used to crash and sleep in all sorts of places, usually some disgusting slums, just to escape from home. Dirty clothes and dishes covering every possible surface; empty, half full and broken bottles of booze carpeting the floor along with cigarette butts. He knows Jeff hasn't been responsive for only a day, but it is clear that his downfall had begun long before that. It is the classic looks of a drug addict shelter, the textbook example, as he has seen it many times before.

_Speaking of addicts._ He feels a distinctive smell of alcohol, smoke of both tobacco and weed, and something else he can't quite define. Smell is so appalling and sickening, that he has to fight an impulse to throw up, while making his way in the search of the cause of it.

When he does, he can't resist cowardly wishing again that he didn't. He wishes that he would have never set a foot in this place, in this bedroom, smelling of all sorts of alcohol, hangover and the side products of human digestion. He wishes he would have never thought of checking on Jeff, he wishes that he could just run away and forget everything he just saw.  
But from one single glance at the body (he couldn't bring himself to think of it as a _person_) he realizes that if he does leave, there will be no Jeff to return to. Ever.

He's curled up in bed in the fetus position, in the middle of mess of dirty sheets and covers, pillow covered with vomit and saliva, hair tangled and dirty, eyes shot open, blank stare aimed at the ceiling. He doesn't move or in any way react to the still ringing phone or Punk's presence; his whole position doesn't scream _alive_ in the slightest, and Punk rushes to him, sending mental prayers to god he never knew to believe in.

_Please, if you exist, please, do that he's still alive, please make it all right, please, help me save him-_

And when he touches his wrist, the skin is cold and damp and clammy, Jeff doesn't react still, but Punk breathes out the air he was unconsciously holding when he feels faint pulse, uneven but present.

He shakes Jeff, slaps him on the cheek, first gently, but then with growing desperation; he has seen overdose way too many times, he knows what to do, but the fact that it's Jeff somehow makes him lose control of the situation. Finally Jeff's gaze seems to gain some degree of consciousness, when he blinks and stares at Punk, pupils in the size of needle points, and gives out a broken scream:

"What the fuck are you doing here?!"  
There is a shade of recognition in Jeff's eyes; however they give out mostly fear and panic when he places a weak punch in Punk's chest. Punk grabs Jeff's slippery wrists and holds them down along his body; sedating him like that is easy, so easy that it hurts.

Jeff doesn't even struggle when Punk loosens his clothes and rolls him over in the recovery position; he doesn't struggle when the pillow is dragged from under his head and he is covered with Punk's jacket. He looks to be dozing out, and Punk shakes him again:

"No no no, no sleeping," He states calmly, but surely. "Stay with me. Everything's gonna be fine. Listen. I'm not leaving you here. Just listen to my voice and relax. No one will know what happened. Trust me. I'm just gonna hold you like that, until you start throwing up whatever shit you've been taking," _That reminds me_, he thinks and looks around the room in search for empty pill bottles.

Antidepressants. More antidepressants. Different kind of antidepressants. _Jesus, what you've been thinking?!_ "Yep, no sleep for you," Punk mutters and continues to talk some reassuring bullshit to keep Jeff calm and awake. He knows he should call an ambulance; he also knows that it would put a big cross on Jeff's career. There is no real debate in Punk's head, and he knows to be doing the right thing when he decides to spend his week off on Jeff's couch. After a bit of cleaning, of course.

An hour passes by when Jeff finally starts to move, struggling to break free from Punk's hold. He is shaking, his breath elevates as he throws up.  
"NOW we're getting somewhere," Punk comments, going to the kitchen to fetch some kind of bucket.  
It takes two more hours for Jeff to get rid of the contents of his stomach, and only then Punk allows him to fall asleep.  
He digs Jeff's closet for cleaner blankets and covers his patient with all he is able to find. Jeff needs to sweat it out, and Punk has some major cleaning to do.

* * *

It's around 5 a.m. when Punk is rudely awakened from one of his rare moments of sleep, and for a change it's not his alarm clock set on every half an hour to check on Jeff. No, this time it's a loud and disturbing sound of intense vomiting coming from the bathroom; Punk is so shocked to hear something else in this dead silent place that he jumps from the couch immediately, all sleep gone without a trace. He wraps himself in a blanket - the place is freezing (he curses and reminds himself that he should get one of those electric heaters) - and makes his way to the bathroom.

Jeff is half laying on the tile floor, one elbow on the toilet lid, his black cargo pants tangled around his knees, he's spilling out green acid and water from his stomach, shaking in convulsions. Vomiting is a good, the organism is cleaning itself, and this means that Jeff is getting better. At this present moment there is nothing Punk wants more, so he just silently sits beside him and holds Jeff's bright colored dirty hair out of his face.  
Jeff wipes his mouth with his shaking hand and looks up at Punk. His eyes are filled with tears and voice coarse when he whispers,  
"Am I dying?"

Punk shakes his head and puts all of his best effort to give out a comforting, reassuring smile.  
"No way. You're doing great."

Jeff makes a sound which remotely resembles a giggle.  
"Fucking. Amazing." He forces out.

"Feeling like taking a shower?"

"Don't think I can manage," Jeff slightly shakes his head. "I must stink like shit," he mutters, suddenly self-conscious, and lowers his head.

"Not a problem," Punk replies removing Jeff's pants and tee and lifting Jeff's body up to the bathtub. _Well, this is awkward,_ he thinks taking off Jeff's underwear, and that is not exactly how he would like to do it, not under these circumstances; Jeff shivers at a single touch, his skin sweaty, slippery and hot, and even in a state like this Punk finds Jeff amazingly beautiful. _This is so wrong_, he thinks, starting to pour water in the tub. He focuses his full attention at trying to keep Jeff away from drowning, because he's not helpful at all when Punk tries to wash him. When they are done, Punk is mildly aroused - _even though I have no clue what the fuck can be in any way hot in washing a half-conscious drug addict_ – and carries Jeff to bed. He looks so pathetic that Punk is afraid to leave him alone.  
He lies right next to him, trying his best not to touch him.

_Just for tonight._

* * *

He can't ever fucking sleep, to the point where he starts to hear colors and smell sounds, and he briefly wonders whether it's possible that Jeff's intoxication rubbed off on him. Two days after, and now he finds himself in Jeff's bed more often than on the couch, even though he still doesn't sleep. He somehow thinks Jeff's presence soothing - two sick, fucked in the head, troubled idiots finding comfort in each others' embrace; this makes him bitterly laugh in his mind, it would be so fucking hilarious if it wouldn't be so pathetically sad.

Jeff is now halfway through the acute withdrawal; Punk has seen this many times before and knows how to deal with it. Even though it means he doesn't have to check on his pulse and breath every five fucking minutes, the situation is still tricky dangerous. Jeff's skin is burning hot and sticky with sweat, and even in the freezing cold apartment his body heat keeps Punk way warmer than the electric heater he has bought and placed near his couch. So he stays close, in the distance of a stretched hand, staring at the ceiling and cursing his life, trying to figure out how'd it all end up like this. He is angry at Jeff for the most part, but realizes that it's his own fault that he didn't just call an ambulance and successfully forgot about the accident. That would've cost Jeff his career, and Punk decided it was worth a certain sacrifice; this is why he stayed.

Shannon has been calling several times now, threatening to come over, but Punk doesn't feel like having his ass kicked, even though he clearly _does_ deserve it.

He never quite had the time to think the situation trough, to gather his own feelings and emotions; too much stress to deal with, all attention on Jeff, that for a while the only feeling he lives by is a constant worry. Now with Jeff slowly getting better, he can allow himself to slightly relax and sort out the mess in his head and heart.  
If he thought that hatred was difficult, this is far more complicated than anything he's ever felt before. It is this odd mixture of pity, contempt, guilt and tenderness and something he would call love, if it wouldn't sound so inappropriate given the circumstances.  
But why is he still here, then? Why doesn't he let Shannon take care of Jeff from this point on, when he seems so eager to do that?  
Why does he keep hugging him in his sleep, hoping it will bring at least some much needed comfort to both of them?  
He doesn't know.

_I can't fool myself any longer with that bullshit that it's my responsibility to take care of him because it really isn't, _he thinks bitterly, completely certain that Jeff has drifted away in one of his half-comatose states.  
He doesn't worry about him sleeping all the time now; objectively speaking, overdose past, the withdrawal is better to be slept through, and Punk really doesn't feel like dealing with any verbal explanations or other bullshit Jeff might throw at him.

This is why he his unpleasantly surprised when a muffled whisper reaches him from across the bed, very weak and quiet, but in this morgue of an apartment perfectly audible:  
"So, aren't you gonna hug me and soothe back to sleep?"

"Why on earth would I do that? You're sweating like a fucking pig," Punk replies irritated.

"You did it last night," there's soft laughter in Jeff's voice, and although it resembles a suffocated cough, Punk is glad to hear it.

"No I didn't," he lies blushing bright red and hopes Jeff won't see that. He does.

"Yes you did."

They remain silent for a moment, Jeff probably gathering energy to speak again. He doesn't vomit for quite a while now, and this is the longest conversation he was able to make in past two days, so Punk figures Jeff is on his way to recovery. He halfheartedly wishes he would be able to leave just now, at least some part of him does, but he just gets out of bed instead, with the intention to get to seven-eleven for a can of Pepsi and some food for Jeff, since he figures he would be able to eat.

"Why are you doing this," Jeff blurts to his back, too tired for any kind of questioning intonation.  
Punk sits back on bed and rushes his hand through his hair, biting on his lip ring.

"I felt guilty. I felt responsible. There was no one else to help you." He tries three different excuses, and they all sound equally pathetic and unbelievable.

"Is that some sort of penance or redemption?" Jeff breathes out after quite a while.

"Consider this my good fucking deed for a year," Punk angrily responds, adding "_ungrateful bastard_" in his head, and puts on his jacket.

Jeff's laying on the side of the bed, curled up in a ball, his shoulders trembling. Punk struggles for a while not to get back to bed, pull him close and stroke his multi-colored hair until he relaxes and goes back to sleep, when Jeff turns around and manages to sit. He lifts his face; it is almost shining white in the light of street lamps coming from the windows, eyes red and swollen, tears running down his hollow cheeks. He has lost quite a bit of weight in past weeks, Punk can't help but to notice every night spooning him, his shoulder blades sharp and hipbones prominent.

"I. Owe. You. My. Life." Jeff forces word by word, looking Punk in the eyes.

_Then make it worth the bother,_ Punk thinks, but instead he laughs reassuringly:

"You owe me, let's count… Fifty bucks for your medicine and hundred for the heater, and then food which I am about to buy now. Add a hundred more for cleaning the mess around here, if you still feel uncomfortable, and we're even."

* * *

"I think there's not a single liquid left in my body," Jeff complains as he emerges on the doorstep of the living room, where Punk is laying on the couch watching late night hockey game. Almost four days later, Jeff seems to be much better, Punk is relieved but he can't get himself to leave just now.

"You can have half of my Pepsi. Look how nice I am," Punk responds, not even turning around from the screen. Jeff goes right ahead and grabs the offered can, curling next to Punk. He's alarmingly close, Punk realizes, when Jeff takes on the role of the smaller spoon in front of him, and the couch is just too small for him not to put his hand around Jeff's waist. Or at least that's what he wants to believe.

Punk can feel the other man's body heat radiating even through several levels of fabric, and he desperately wants to feel more of it. He can smell Jeff's shampoo and body lotion as he almost buries his face into his neck curve, and something else, something so purely _Jeff_, that it immediately sends impulses to Punk's groin. Armies of old naked ladies with saggy tits are dancing can-can in Punk's mind to distract his growing arousal and he thinks he will be able to remain a gentleman and not take advantage of the situation, until Jeff suddenly shifts his hips, making himself more comfortable. And again. And then once more.

"Would you please stop squirming around, you're distracting me," Punk grunts, displeased.  
"This couch is uncomfy as hell," Jeff retorts, and there's no telling whether he's mocking Punk or is actually serious.  
"Dude. It's your couch," Punk is nervous, he bites his lip and tries to back off, only to feel the back of the couch with his own.  
"Okay okay, relax, man. I won't."

But he does. And Punk can't help but to feel himself hardening. This is embarrassing, and he blushes painfully red, when he forces out a strangled hiss:  
"Stop. That."  
"Did I do it again? Sorry, haven't noticed this time," Jeff replies, pure innocence, and now it's clear that he does that on purpose.

"Funny how you're here being all knight in shining armor for me, I mean, holding my hair back when I puke, calming me back to sleep, hell, even cleaning my apartment," Jeff muses, and now Punk feels a deliberate _thrust _against his lower abdomen. His fingers unconsciously squeeze Jeff's hip and he lets out a muffled moan into his neck.

"But you know, Phil-"  
_Thrust_.

"-what is completely-"  
_Thrust. _

"-un-knightly?"  
_Thrust. _

Jeff manages to turn around on the narrow couch and now he's facing Punk. They are so close that their noses touch; Punk can feel Jeff's breath on his lips, and the other man's arousal against his own.

"It's that boner of yours," He finishes with a smile against Punk's half-open mouth. "I could help you with that," Jeff whispers, licking Punk's lower lip, tracing his ring with his tongue, teasing.

"No need," Punk pulls away, desperately trying to stop this madness.

"You sure?" The other man murmurs, cupping the bulge in Punk's pants.

"You're still-"

"Still _what_?" Gentle squeeze.

"-Sick…"

"Am I now," Jeff's eyes glisten and then there's his teeth suddenly digging into Punk's lip, he feels hot blood bursting out and hot tongue licking it off. He gasps partly in pain, partly in pleasure, and Jeff does not hesitate to take advantage and attack his mouth with his own, diving deep into the kiss, and Punk tastes his own blood on Jeff's tongue; he never found any blood-related activities attractive even in the slightest, he knows he should be disgusted, but suddenly he finds it extremely sexy.

"You kinky bastard," He can't help but to smile when their lips part to catch a breath.

"And you like it that way, don't you," Jeff's lips also curve into smile, and his hands start to unfasten Punk's belt.

And then everything starts to move in a fast-forward mode; Punk's memories and recollections are shattered and fragmented. Here Jeff slides down his body, his lips tracing Punk's suddenly burning skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake; here they end up on the floor, because the couch is narrow and making it to the bedroom is just not an option; here Jeff's lips finally reach the destination and _oh god_, does that feel good; here Jeff asks for lube and mocks him for good two minutes when Punk says that it's in his backpack,

"Do you always carry lube around when going to visit your supposedly OD'ing friends?"

And finally, there's him inside Jeff, and it feels just as amazing as he always thought it would, and there's Jeff eagerly meeting his thrusts, his nails digging so deep in Punk's back that he won't be surprised to find blood traces in the morning. He begs for more, he begs Punk to be faster, rougher, stronger, and Punk is happy to oblige, expressing only a tiny bit of concern towards Jeff's well-being in the morning, to which Jeff responds with his hips shifting to meet Punk even faster.  
Then there's him almost pulling out, re-angling himself and going for Jeff's special spot and then, few minutes later, there's his own eyes rolling to the back of his skull from immeasurable pleasure as they both come at the same time, with each others' names on their lips.

They still hold on to each other, their stomachs glued together with Jeff's cum, and for the first time in his life Punk falls asleep immediately after sex, without any thoughts in the back of his head, and soft dark abyss swallows both men tangled in an unlikely knot.

* * *

Morning comes too fast, and Punk, surprised that he actually slept whole night through, slowly regains his memories. They all sum up in a half-coherent sentence, _holy shit, this can't be true_, but then Punk feels the warmth beside him and there's no denying. Only regret, guilt, shame, and immediate instinct to _run._

He quickly gets up, not caring whether he will wake Jeff up or not, dresses in first clothes he finds, and makes it to the door.

"You're going, then," Sleepy voice reaches him halfway to the kitchen, and Punk responds:

"I think you are well enough to survive on your own now."

"You could stay."

"I have a life too."

"What happened last night?"  
_  
He actually may have forgotten. He is still in recovery from this massive overdose, so he might just not remember it._ That could be his salvation.

"Fuck if I know." He tries to sound careless and casual.

But not everything is settled just like this, and Punk has one last thing to clear out.

"Before I leave," Punk turns around from the doorway, looking at Jeff slowly approaching from the living room to see him out, "I think you owe me something."

Jeff remains silent; he snuggles deeper in the blanket and leans on the wall.  
"An explanation."

Jeff looks up, bright green gaze meeting olive one, and smiles daringly. "You owe me a couple too."

"Oh no buddy I really don't", Punk shakes his head. "After saving your sorry ass the least you can do is tell me _why_."

"I love you. You rejected me." Jeff shrugs, looking away.

"Jeebus, Jeff, are you fucking _twelve_?!" Punk exclaims in shock. "It's past time you'd learn to get fucking over heartbreak without overreacting to this extreme! Seriously dude, what's wrong with you?"

"I've never been rejected before. Nor have I loved someone that much."

Punk has remains silent. He has nothing to say, even though he actually _wants_ to say so much. Everything is so tangled up that he gives up any hope to sort it out. On one hand, he _knows _he loves him, on the other – he can't exactly forgive him, and then there's all that livesaving thing and he just can't handle it all. He just blankly stares at Jeff. They are silent for a moment, and then:

"Why'd you sleep with me?"

The question catches Punk off-guard, despite the fact that he knew he had to explain this at some point. _Not now_, he thinks, _just not now_.

"Never happened," he shakes his head lightly. "You hallucinated."

And then, without even looking at Jeff, he picks up his backpack and leaves.

* * *

Wow, Punk is a jerk. Will he ever come back to give the explanations he owes Jeff and will the latter manage to forgive him or he'll finally come to his senses?  
Let me know your impressions on this chapter :)  
Song is "New Low" by Middle Class Rut.


	6. So much for my happy ending

In this chapter we're getting a shitload of talking. Our characters need to sort stuff out, and there's no better way to do it than talking with their friends and family, right? Good advices and bad advices lead them to finally sorting it out between themselves. Hope you'll be patient enough through all this chatter. Enjoy.

* * *

He returns home, he changes into his running gear and he runs.

He runs for hours, to the point his knee starts giving up, to the point where his lungs are screaming for more air, to the point where he has no idea where he is, even though it's still his beloved, well-known Chicago. His every muscle is sore (he would love to blame it on long time without exercise, but he runs every day, so the reason for that lies someplace else), his head, however, doesn't clear up even a bit.

Mentally, he is still in Jeff's apartment, holding Jeff in his sleep and his wake; kissing his hair softly, trying not to wake him as he gets out of bed for another run; watching Jeff sleep when he comes back; telling him stories from his life when he needs to keep him awake. There was so much between them, so much bonding that could have happened only given their backstory and the circumstances, and there could never be any bond as strong as this one. They knew everything about each other, Punk could swear he could _feel_ Jeff's thoughts sometimes, when he is too weak to communicate otherwise.

And he saved his life. Stuff like that can't just be ignored. This was far more intimate than any other thing they've done.

And they've done _things_.

It tastes of blood in Punk's mouth, and there's sharp pain in his chest, but he just shakes his head.

He keeps running.

He still can't figure how and why he gave into that, how did he lose control and took advantage of Jeff, and even though it was actually Jeff who initiated the whole thing, Punk feels guilty. He also feels guilty for feeling guilty for wrong reasons (he laughs at how ridiculous that sounds and almost suffocates), because he knows what exactly he _should_ feel guilty for.  
For running.

He laughs again; it is all so horrible that it actually becomes hilarious.

It, however, gets way less so when his memory helpfully offers him a reminder of last night, and a pretty detailed reminder it is; Punk closes his eyes, he doesn't even look where he's running. He desperately tries to save that memory forever – Jeff's face as they come, and that feeling he has when they lay on the floor, exhausted, but happy, and that only occasion in his life where he falls asleep immediately. _That is a sign of some sorts_, he figures, even though he never believed in signs, luck, or any other bullshit like that. But it's Jeff. Everything is compromised when it comes to Jeff.

He collapses on the pavement, manages to find his phone and calls Colt. Colt is _not_ happy.  
"Where fuck have you been, Phillip? I've called you like a billion times this week," he yells angrily, he even uses Punk's full name which would usually mean that shit's going down, but this time Punk doesn't care. He ignores the question and asks his own:  
"Any chance you could pick me up? Been running a _bit _too much," He breathes out.  
"_Again,_ Punk?" Colt whines for a while, especially when he hears the address and realizes that it's the other side of the city, but after a while he sighs and Punk can hear him picking up the car keys.

He makes it in twenty minutes.

"Dude, you look like shit," he claims getting out of the car and walking towards Punk, who is still sitting on the sidewalk.  
"Well, at least I can always count on the moral support and general niceness of my friends," Punk sneers and hugs his friend.  
"Now in all seriousness," Colt says, when they get in the car. "What've you been up to all this time?"  
"Trust me, you don't wanna know."  
"Trust me, I really do." Colt's tone is strict and determined. He seems concerned about Punk, he always does, and there's always a reason for it.

"Playing nurses all week long," Punk giggles answering, he really doesn't feel like going into too much detail, but at least he's not lying.  
Colt gives him a long stare, trying to decide whether his friend is mentally stable. He has seldom seen Punk in a condition like this; the last time it was when he hadn't slept in a week, and was running on coffee and Red Bull and got to the point where he was hearing voices and was constantly in between giggling and unprovoked aggression.  
"When did you last sleep?" Colt narrows his eyes suspiciously.  
"Last night, actually. Full night's sleep, like nine hours or so," Punk smiles, but there's that absolutely crazed look in his eyes, the look that worries Colt the most. The answer Punk just gave him sounds completely unbelievable; Punk never sleeps full night, everyone knows it, especially Colt, being one of those people who would keep him company through his insomnia. Nothing would ever help him, be it running, workout or sex, and he would never take any pills.

"Punk…" Colt begins, but his attempt to clarify the situation is abruptly interrupted.  
"Listen, Colt, just get me home, ok?" His voice angry and pained, he sighs and turns away from Colt. The latter, is, however, determined to know the truth.  
"You've been at Jeff's, haven't you?"  
Colt can see in the faint street lights that Punk blushes.  
"How'd you know?"

The answer is so hesitant and so quiet that Punk can barely hear it, but when he does, his eyebrows raise up high and he is genuinely shocked.  
"Shannon might have mentioned something." Now it's Colt's turn to blush in deep red and turn his face away.

"WOW," Punk states. "You and Shannon. I honestly thought you guys didn't even know each other."

"We're not talking about me now."

"Yes we are," Punk giggles again. His mood swings are now seriously bothering Colt.

"No, Punk, we're not." Colt's voice is stern. "You fucked it all up again, haven't you?"

The always so eloquent superstar is silent now. He sighs and looks up to the ceiling of the car.  
"You finally made a choice?"

"It has never been a _choice,_ Colt," Punk says bitterly. "It was about punishment. And I apparently ended up punishing myself."

"It always has been a choice, Phil," Colt touches Punk's shoulder gently. "It was from the very beginning, when you first met them both, and you've been making the wrong choices ever since."

"Who do you think you are to say what is wrong and what is right for me?!"

"I'm your friend who isn't blind."

They stay silent for a very long while.

"You're right, Scott. I screwed it up. I can't handle him, I can't handle my feelings towards him, I can't handle _his_ feelings towards _me_. I can't get over his lying and plotting, and then there's me almost killing him and then saving his life again, and, seriously, Scott, I have no idea what to do."

"Do you even hear yourself, Punk? I, I, I, me, me, me. I have a great advice for you: how about you for a change pull your head out of your ass and start thinking about something else except for your precious self?!" Being rough is the best way to get the point across with Punk, which usually makes him yell and argue and eventually realize his mistakes.

But this time he just curls up in the seat.

"Let's go, Cabana." He says quietly and remains silent till the end of the journey.

He knows it all. He knows how much he has hurt Jeff, much more than he deserved. Much more than he could take. _I should finally stop running from my problems_, he realizes, but it takes him two more weeks to actually do so.

* * *

Somewhere around the time Punk is returning home from one of the shows and contemplates his existence and feelings, there is a ring on the door to Jeff Hardy's apartment.

Jeff is on the mat working out, so he just yells that the door is open; he is absolutely sure that it's Punk finally coming back to make everything right. He hears the door open and then close, but he doesn't stop or walk to meet him.

"Finally, Punkers, I thought you never gonna realize that all you need is my sweet ass," He shouts not looking behind himself.

"You were right. He never will."

He knows that voice; he's been hearing it all his life, but it's the last voice he has been expecting to hear now.  
He puts down the weights and turns around to face his brother.

"If you're here to mock me, you could've used the phone. It's way cheaper than catching a plane. Unless, of course, you're here to beat the crap out of me again." He says coldly, folding his hands on his chest.

"I'm not here to fight, Jeffery."

"I'm all ears, Matthew."

"I'm sorry. I never should have done what I did. I never should have chosen him over you, my own blood, my own family. Jeff, we have to end this shit. I've made a mistake."

Jeff always forgives easily. He had missed Matt, their friendship, the understanding and comfort he felt being with his big brother. He was right; Punk, no matter how much both of them loved him, was not worthy of their fights.

"So have I," He says hugging his brother, and suddenly it all feels better. The pain of broken heart, the pain from drug abuse, all almost gone. He feels like home.

"He is never coming for you and the better you realize it the better," Says Matt when they sit in the living room drinking beer after long hugs, cries and apologies. "He never loved me, he said that himself. He never loved you either. And I'm not saying that because I'm jealous in any way. I have Chris now. I'm telling you because I care about you."

Jeff says nothing; no matter how much he hates to admit, it seems like the only reasonable explanation.

"The only person CM Punk loves is CM Punk," Matt says.

Jeff brings himself to nod.

Matt smiles.  
"Now for the guilt present. Remember, how we used to have those when we were kids and would do something mean to each other?"  
Jeff remembers. This is how he got his first professional acrylic paint kit.

"I've got you a contract," Matt smiles even wider, and Jeff realizes that not everything has yet been lost; he can start over, turn a new page, leaving Punk and drugs and depression behind.  
For the first time in months his face lights up with an honest smile.

* * *

It's late night more than two weeks from the last time he has seen Jeff when he realizes he can't take it anymore.

When he gets to the door to Jeff's apartment, he can't help but to notice that the ever-present garbage is gone, the feeble crooked door is replaced with a new one, even the doormat is placed under it. These are good signs. Jeff is doing well enough, it would seem, but when Punk knocks on the door, he wonders just how well he will handle what he has to throw at him.

Jeff emerges in the doorway, looking puzzled, sleepy and not exactly happy to see Punk. He's wearing only his pajama pants, and Punk notices that he finally put on some healthy weight. His stomach flat, hipbones still visible right above his low-hanging pants and traces of fabric on his skin make Punk gulp, that's how cutely attractive Jeff looks. _I can handle that,_ Punk thinks as Jeff reluctantly invites him in with a gesture.

"Here for a check on me? You'd make an amazing sober companion. I haven't relapsed yet," he says sarcastically.

"Yes. No. I mean, I wanted to see how you're doing. But not because I think you relapsed." Punk avoids looking at Jeff and for a while chews on his lip ring.

"You're gonna rip it off one day if you continue biting it like that," Jeff notes coldly.

"I need to talk to you," says Punk when they make their way to the kitchen, Jeff leaning on the wall and Punk sitting on the window.

"Oh, so now you're talking to me. Awesome. What changed?"

Punk would love to ignore how hurt Jeff sounds, how much pain and sadness is in his voice, but he just can't. Guilt. Immeasurable guilt fills him, and he realizes that after all, he _is_ the bad guy. All the "good deeds for a year" in his life will never be enough to pay for what he has done to Jeff.

"I have."

_Somewhat._

_Maybe.  
_  
"Ever since I first saw you… When I met you… All this time… Even when I was with Matt… Ah shit, that's not going anywhere." Punk strokes his hair, nervous, bites his piercing again. He jumps down on the floor and paces around the kitchen, while Jeff is still leaning on the wall, hands crossed, seemingly indifferent. "I care for you very much," Punk says finally. Not the best choice of words, but he hopes it will help to get the message across.

"You care for me," Jeff repeats slowly. "Great."

"Shit. No." Punk breathes in, and tries once again. "What I mean to say is that I love you." Here. He said it. He shrugs and adds "Always have."

Their eyes meet, and there's no telling in what Jeff is thinking. They stare at each other for what seems to be an eternity, when Jeff crooks his eyebrow and spits out:

"Really, Punk? I mean, _really?"_ There's mocking, contempt and disbelief in his tone, and he slowly pulls off the wall and approaches Punk. "You want a response, don't ya? You want me to say that I love you too and then have us a nice pity sex which you seem to enjoy so much and have a happy ending and ride together into sunrise?" Jeff is angry, he hisses spiteful words right into Punk's face, gives him one last glance full of hatred, and trails off and now he is pacing around the kitchen.

"Just listen to yourself, Punk. You dated my brother, perfectly knowing that it was me who loved you, not him. You left him for good. You made us both compete for you, for your own amusement; you ruined our good relationship. You toyed with me like it was me who hurt you, not Matt. You made me leave the company. You made me relapse. Then you turn in here, you save my pathetic excuse for a life, hooray, _go you_, right?!" Jeff is now screaming. "I don't remember asking you to save me! You, of all people! Instead of calling an ambulance and leaving, you just had to stay here, causing me pain with every fucking second of your presence. As if it wasn't enough, you_ fucked_ me when I was most vulnerable, you said I _hallucinated_ the entire thing and just fucking left me, when I was on the verge of another relapse. Whatever happened to your no-one-night-stands rule, huh, Phil? And now you come over in the middle of the night telling me you loved me all along? Really, Punk?"

Jeff makes his way to the sink and pours himself some water. After a few sips he seems to have composed himself, as he sighs and continues more calmly:

"Take a good look around you. I'm doing great. I'm clean and I intend to keep it that way. I made my peace with Matt. I signed with TNA, and I'm starting to perform next week." Jeff is within Punk's reach again, he forces out a pained smile as he looks at the younger man. "I'm fixing my life, Phil. And I don't need you messing around in it."

"It's not fair," Punk childishly whimpers, not knowing what he wants to say with that. "It's so… not… fair!" Tears start forming up in his eyes, and he angrily wipes them away.

"Don't you fucking cry on me, Punk. I know what is unfair. I've been telling myself "it's not fair" every single time you hurt me and it already tastes bitter, that's how often I've said it. Did it help me, though? It did not. Neither will it help you. So get out. Unlike you, I do sleep from time to time."

Punk wants to object, hell, he wants to scream and yell and tear everything apart, just to make Jeff listen and_ understand_, and forgive. But he doesn't. He bows his head and makes it past Jeff to the door, and when he already crosses the threshold, he mutters questioningly:  
"So, see ya around, Jeff?"

"No," is the soft, yet stern response as the door shuts closed in his face.

* * *

The song, obviously, is "My happy ending" by Avril Lavigne.

Ok, this is how I planned to end it initially. Even though I have a clear idea on how it all could work out happily, I have no idea whether it should or not. I mean, that's what you get for being jerks, right? I always figured myself for a sucker for happy endings, and here I am, not a single story of mine actually ends well. It's frustrating.  
What do you guys think? Of this chapter in general and the ending in particular? Your opinions are appreciated, as always. It would be also cool to get the opinions of other readers, not only my two awesome loyal reviewers :) (if there's anyone else still reading this, that is)  
OK, now I'm done with this ridiculously long note. Seriously.


	7. Next to Godliness

They say, forgiveness is next to godliness. Is that so?  
I have decided that our boys do deserve some sort of closure. I hope you will enjoy the last part of this story :)

* * *

Few weeks after, Jeff moves out back to North Carolina, he's said to be building a new house somewhere in the outskirts of Raleigh.

Punk learns it the hard way.

He doesn't give up on him. He tries calling, but after several attempts the number is changed, and there's no way to get his new one. He tries to come to him, but no matter how long he pushes the doorbell, no one answers. He listens by the door, hoping to hear footsteps or any other proof that Jeff is home, but there's nothing.

He walks out of the building and stands nearby, half hidden in the bush, waiting for Jeff to come home. Sometimes he stays like that for hours, but it's always the same result. He never comes.  
Never in his life has Punk felt this miserable and pathetic. It never has been his style to make the first move to an apology, let alone to stalk someone like he does now. It sickens him, to feel broken like that, but there's nothing he can do about it. He needs Jeff more than he needs his dignity or pride, and he compromises with is usual rules, and does everything in his power to get Jeff's forgiveness. Because forgiveness is all he can now hope for. Punk has lost the hope that Jeff has retained any love for him.

Funny. He never thought he would be the one to strive for someone's love like that. He never believed in love to begin with. And yet here he is, stalking Jeff's house whenever he has the time to, and thinking of him whenever he doesn't, and going to see him perform whenever he gets an opportunity to.

Eventually Colt tells him (and he is informed by Shannon) that Jeff moved out and currently is renting a house in Raleigh, at least until his own is being rebuilt.

It's killing Colt to see Punk like this. He himself is happy, and there is nothing he would want more than to see Punk happy too. None of the usual distractions seem to help; wrestling is no longer the only addiction to Punk. He loses his championship so easily and cares about it so little, that Colt is sick worried about his friend's well-being.

He knows exactly how to help him, but he can't, and that is what kills Colt the most.

He and Shannon argue about it so much that sometimes Colt is afraid to piss his ever so complicated friend off completely. Shannon is absolutely certain Punk screwed up royally and not only is not worthy of another chance, but shouldn't even be let near Jeff ever again.  
Of course, Colt could easily get Jeff's new number and address, but that is not nearly enough. Jeff would just shut the door in Punk's face if he would dare to approach him.  
Shannon could convince Jeff to at least _listen _to what Punk has to say. If he wanted to.  
_So could Matt,_ it suddenly occurs to Colt, and even if he is not exactly friends with the older Hardy, it is worth giving a shot.

After Punk calls Colt asking to pick him up from the street again because has no more energy to return home, it is clear that he should not postpone saving him any further. He has no idea what exactly is he going to tell Matt to convince him to bring Jeff and Punk together again when he dials the number he's previously took from Shannon's phone, relying only on a sheer hope on Matt's kindness.

Somehow, Matt recognizes who is he talking to from the first word Colt says, and he immediately knows the purpose of his call.

"Hey, Cabana," He says in an uneasy voice. "I know exactly what you want from me. And yes, I will talk to Jeff. We can't continue to live like this anymore –neither of us; or we will all go insane."

Colt is surprised by Matt's insightfulness, but he has to agree. They are all worried about Punk – he, Joey, Natalie and many others – but Colt doesn't quite understand why Matt is worried too.

"Man, you should see Jeff… Or you probably shouldn't." Matt sighs on the other end of the phone. "I have told him to get over it, that he should find someone else, that Phil is bad news for him, but does he listen…?"

"Why doesn't he call him then?" Colt realizes it can't just be solved so easily, but there's hope Jeff would agree to listen now.

"He's too proud, my brother. And too hurt. He knows he should forget him, but he can't live without him either."

"Neither can Punk."

"I know."

They stay silent for a while.

"How bad is it?" Matt asks after a pause.

"Pretty bad," Colt has to admit.

"I'll do what I can and will let you know," says Matt after another pause and hangs up.

* * *

It's the middle of the night, and Punk is reading a comic in his bed, when his phone rings, completely unexpectedly. Punk jumps out of bed and runs to the table where he'd left it, hurrying to pick it up, hoping it would be Jeff.

_Close enough_. A glance to the screen lessens his enthusiasm, but he picks up nonetheless.

"Yea, Matt?" He asks, frowning. They broke up a forever ago, and they haven't exactly been _friends_ ever since. They have no common topics anymore, and Punk has no idea why would he call him at all.

"Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?" Matt asks without any introduction.

"What the fu…"

"I said, do you have a piece of paper and a pen?" Matt interrupts Punk impatiently; it is clear that he has no desire for this conversation to last any longer than it is necessary.

"Yes," Punk finally says, grabbing a pen, too busy to search for a paper sheet, and ready to write on his hand.

"I'm gonna tell you the address and you are going to get in your car and drive very fast. I will not repeat it twice and you will not be getting a second chance."

Punk's heart skips a beat when he realizes what it is all about. He writes the address Matt tells him on the inner side of his left hand, and is about to thank Matt, but he seems to read his mind:

"Don't thank me, Punkers, I'm not doing it for you," He tries to sound mean, but Punk can sense him smiling over the phone. "He is waiting for you."

"Thank you, Matt."

"Just don't fuck it up again, ok?" Matt actually sounds encouraging, and then he ends the call.

Needless to say, Punk is ready in no time and hits the road he knows so well. It however never seemed so long; it takes him whole eight hours to get to Charleston, and here he is stuck in a massive traffic jam. Impatient, he decides to take a small detour through the north of the city, and when he's standing in a crossroad waiting for a green light, something catches his eye.

"Charleston Animal Society", it reads on one of the buildings he passes, and then it hits him. He hits the brakes almost causing an accident, and, accompanied by swears from other drivers, he drives into the parking lot.

He had never particularly liked animals nor does he know a lot about them. He walks in the shelter and asks a woman working there to give him a dog he could adopt. She gives him a puzzled stare and tells that there is more than one dog up for adoption and politely asks what kind of a dog would he like.

"Umm… A barking kind," Punk tries, but the crazed glance the woman gives him suggests that it's not an answer she was expecting. "Look, just show me all of them and I'll choose one."

"Are you sure you are to be trusted with a pet, sir?" Woman frowns at him suspiciously.

"It's for a friend," Punk tries to seem as trustworthy as he can. "His dog died recently and…"

"I'm sorry for his loss," the woman smiles sadly and gestures him further in the building. "Follow me. I'm sure you'll find a nice dog for your friend."

Choosing is difficult, and Punk almost regrets starting this entire get-Jeff-a-dog thing. All of the creatures look so sad and miserable in their cages, that even though never being known for liking dogs he finds himself wanting to adopt all of them himself. He also has no idea what kind of dogs Jeff likes. He remembers Jack being some kind of a mix-breed, and that despite his not so pretty looks and not all that high intelligence Jeff loved him insanely.

For a while he just walks around aimlessly, waiting for something to catch his eye, when he sees a rather large dog, a some sort of mix between a collie and german shepherd. Its name makes Punk grin, it says "Zelda" on the cage, and he calls the woman who had brought him here.

"This one."

After some necessary preparations, filling in the forms and giving the dog some medicine, they are finally ready to continue the trip. The dog seems calm enough when it gets in the car and makes itself comfortable on the front seat.

"Don't you dare pee in my car," Punk warns his new companion, and Zelda gives him an understanding glance.

"Good girl," Punk mutters and starts the car.

* * *

He is forced to stop every once in a while to give Zelda some water and a chance to run around for a while, in order to prevent her from actually peeing in his car. This is why it is already evening when he finally reaches the address Matt has given him. Windows are lit up, he sees a shadow moving back and forth in one of them, and he sits in a car for a while more trying to calm himself down. His heart is beating somewhere in his throat and his palms are sweating; he puts a leash on Zelda's collar and makes way to the door.

He doesn't even has the time to ring a doorbell, when the door shuts open and there's Jeff, hands in his pockets, nervous and tense look on his face.

For a while neither of them says anything, they just stand looking each other in the eyes, almost not breathing. The speech Punk has prepared and rehearsed in the car to Zelda all the way from Charleston seems to have disappeared from his head without a trace. Jeff is the one to break the silence.

"You brought me a dog." He states, and Punk can't tell whether he is happy about it or not.

"Yes," he simply replies.

"I hate it when you make decisions for me," Jeff frowns, and for a split second Punk fears he has made a mistake again.

"You would have never made this one on your own," He says gently.

"Too true. Just as I would've never decided to forgive you on my own," Jeff responds mysteriously and Punk's heart freezes for a moment. "Come in, both of you," He finally sighs opening the door wider.

They are still silent when Punk takes his usual spot on the window and Jeff leans on the counter no more than a meter from him.

"So… We need to talk." Punk tries. "I mean, I'd like you to listen to me-"

"Do you really have anything new to say?" Jeff asks, and there is no anger in his voice, only softness and understanding.

"Only one thing."

Their gazes meet.

"I'm so sorry." Punk breathes out so quietly that Jeff barely hears him.

"You better be," He says as silently, not breaking an eye contact. Now he is so close to Punk that they can feel each other's breath. There is a questioning look in Punk's eyes, and Jeff lightly nods, and then their lips touch.

Two hearts skip a beat simultaneously; the kiss is full of tenderness and care, it is one of those kisses you want to last forever. Punk is satisfied with this almost chaste kiss, but Jeff dives in, he licks Punk's lip asking for the entrance, but Punk pulls away.

"Don't rush," He whispers, and Jeff nods again. They both had rushed too many things in their lives, they have ruined too many things this way, and now they're going slow.

And steady.

* * *

[Present day]

It is a rocky road they're on, but it's a happy one nonetheless.

They never move in together. This is one of the main causes of their arguments, but Jeff is unbendable about it; living 800 miles apart, hard as it is, has its benefits, and he's not talking about the fact that this way they miss each other more. He wants to keep his distance, as much as it is possible, he doesn't want to depend on Punk at this, because the rest of his life already is in Punk's hands. He still can't bring himself to fully trust him, even though he has never given him a reason not to; not anymore. It is as if Jeff expects it to end at any moment or waits for Punk to give him some sort of undeniable proof.

_As if he hasn't already._

But they are happy together, as happy as they can be, Punk controlling his mood swings and jealousy and he doesn't have a reason to be jealous anymore, because Jeff doesn't even look at anyone else. He has Punk and it's all he needs now and is going to need for the foreseeable future.  
He still slips, though, and sometimes ends up drunk or high, even though these occasions are getting fewer and fewer, and he never hides them from Punk anymore. He has Matt and Shannon to take care of him until Punk comes, no matter where would he be, he rushes to him as soon as he can. He yells, they argue, Jeff is sorry, they make their peace and Punk stays as long as he can allow himself to. They meet every time either of them has days off; sometimes Jeff goes to Chicago, but usually it's Punk driving all the way to Raleigh.

Like now, for example. It is Monday night, Raw has just taken place in Pittsburgh, and Punk is already on his way to Jeff, because he isn't booked for any matches for the next week. Without any rest he hits the road, making small rare breaks and sending random texts to Jeff along the way.

Jeff can't fall asleep, they haven't seen each other for two weeks and he is just too impatient to keep his eyes closed. This is why he sets up an easel and puts on some music, his phone lies beside him, occasionally buzzing with texts from Punk.

At one a.m. he writes:

"I'm in the middle of nowhere, and some god's forgotten cafe is giving away free wi-fi. Quite adorable when you think about it."

Jeff smiles but doesn't reply; Punk doesn't like it when Jeff doesn't get enough sleep, and Jeff doesn't want to worry him. Around five in the morning he starts to doze out, and yet another buzz wakes him up.

"Stars are fucking amazing here. Yeah yeah, I can just feel you frowning over there, I know I should sleep, but it's not exactly worth it anymore. Can you guess how many miles are left till home?"

This time Jeff can't resist the urge to answer him.

"You should stop texting while driving, either you're gonna crash into a tree of the phone bill will be fucking insane" Jeff replies for the first time this evening.

It is no surprise that Punk calls him back immediately.

"Wow, dude, I thought you were sleeping."

"Can't. Waiting for you."

"So you were keeping me company all the way without me even knowing it?"

"Yes."

"Aren't we cute?"

Silence hangs between them for a while. Jeff thinks they are anything _but_ cute, and yet his heart melts a little each time Punk says something like that. Still. Even though he should be used to that.

"That is, we_ would_ be cute, if you wouldn't be so concerned about the phone bill and would've called me right after I hit the road." Punk's voice is slightly annoyed, and to Jeff's big surprise, he can hear small traces of nervousness in his tone.

"What brings me to our next topic," Punk continues, and there it is; now Jeff can hear it quite distinctively. Punk _is_ nervous. Jeff can almost _see_ him biting his lip ring and tapping the wheel, staring blankly into space instead of paying attention to the road.

"Yes?" He asks, trying to seem encouraging.

"I can't stand you being so far away so often," Punk mutters, almost shyly, and Jeff's heart fills with warmth, even though they had this conversation many times before and both knew that there's no fixing it.

"Nothing you can do, darlin'," Jeff smiles to the phone, a constant reply, and they have played this game so many times, that by now they both know the lines perfectly; now Punk will say that it's unfair, and Jeff is supposed to call Punk an oversensitive little girl and remind him that he didn't believe in love. Punk would agree that Jeff is right, laugh the situation off and say that he's happy that there is no pressure in their relationship. They would laugh and lie and pretend it's fine, while both knowing that it really isn't.

But this time something goes differently, Jeff understands it when Punk takes an unusually long pause.

And then:

"Should I get you a ring so you'd finally get my message across?" He asks irritated, nervous, hoping.

Jeff is speechless; he knew that Punk is very serious about their relationship, but he never knew just how much. He remembers him saying that he didn't believe in marriage and that he would never get himself caught in one, and that makes him realize exactly how serious Punk is. Ant that this might be the proof he unconsciously was waiting for.

"Phil, you're fucking insane." He finally manages to force out.

"Is that a no?" Punk's voice gets cold and distant; he tries to hide the disappointment behind the fake indifference.

"…Don't be an idiot."

Punk laughs and ends the call immediately, and Jeff can't help himself but to smile through tears. That's Punk for you. That's just what Punk does to him.  
Only Punk could propose over the phone, on the road, in that kind of manner and still make Jeff the happiest man alive. And if that isn't perfection, he doesn't know what is.

* * *

Aaaand it's done! I'm actually pretty satisfied with how it all turned out. Even though I almost got cavities while finishing it. I really hope you liked it – please let me know about it!

Thank you all for reading and supporting me, it meant a world to me.

Also, this story done, I'm probably going to attempt a Punk/Colt fic. Although if anyone of you has a request for me, please please please do not hesitate to PM me! I'd be more than happy to take it!


End file.
